Sleeping at the Microscope
by teacups-and-murder
Summary: John knew that Sherlock was a stubborn man. However, Sherlock was the worst when it came to sleep. Only when the stars aligned and heaven and earth screamed in glorious bliss would Sherlock willingly go to bed when John suggested. But Sherlock has a secret. A secret John is soon to discover. The consulting detective actually sleeps quite often. Right under John's nose, in fact...
1. Chapter 1

Hello, all! This is actually a ficlet that I wrote a while ago and published on Tumblr. I went through it again recently and really want to turn it into a series! For those of you eagerly awaiting an update to my Potterlock fic, I sincerely apologize. You have nooooo idea how guilty I feel about having let that fic go for so long without an update. I promise I'm working on the next chapter! I just started my second semester of college and I have a lot more free time this semester compared to last. I'm going to try and keep on a regular schedule now!

Anyhow, I hope you all enjoy this ficlet as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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><p>John knew that Sherlock was a stubborn man. Of course he knew that. The self-proclaimed consulting detective was even more stubborn when he was on cases. He refused to eat. Refused to sleep. Refused to acknowledge that his body was anything except for "transport." One of these days, he was going to collapse on a crime scene or get himself admitted to the hospital. John tried his best to get him to eat when he could. He managed to get a piece of toast in him every now and then, but that wasn't enough to fuel his body. It was something though, and John prided himself on every time he managed to get Sherlock to eat something.<p>

Getting him to sleep was a completely different story. John wasn't even sure if he'd ever seen Sherlock sleep in his bed in the whole time they lived together. Only on two separate occasions had he caught the man sleeping. One time was in the back of a cab. Sherlock had had two cases in a row. One that had stretched on for six days and the next for three. A total of nine days without sleep. His body had simply refused to keep going and the moment he'd slid into the back of the cab he'd been practically comatose, his head resting on John's shoulder. Sherlock had drooled on his shoulder, but John didn't wake him up until they were home. The second time he'd seen Sherlock sleeping had been on the sofa in the living room of Baker Street. John had gotten up especially early that morning. He had an early shift at the surgery and had to be there at five in the morning. He'd come downstairs to find Sherlock sprawled out on the sofa. One of his arms was hanging off the edge of the couch, fingers touching the floor. His lips were parted just enough for a soft snore to sound through the room. John couldn't help but find the noise endearing. He'd covered the detective with a blanket and then went on his way.

Lately though, John had started noticing a pattern. After a rough string of cases or a particularly challenging one, Sherlock would go to the kitchen table and start on an experiment. John never understood why. The man was clearly exhausted. But he refused to go to bed. Even with John's gentle prodding. Only if the detective was practically dead on his feet would he go immediately to his bedroom. John was determined to get to the bottom of this odd occurrence.

John hadn't discovered what was going on though on purpose. No, it had been a complete and utter accident. John had said goodnight to Sherlock four hours ago. Their case hadn't been particularly hard to figure out, but it had required a load of physical exertion. John was sore from head to toe and exhausted, but his mind wouldn't let him sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he could see the sands of Afghanistan and smelled blood and sand. He wasn't sure what had triggered this, but he was hoping a cup of tea would help him.

He walked down the stairs quietly, his bad leg falling a bit heavier on the steps than usual. When he entered the kitchen he saw that Sherlock was still at his microscope. Exactly where he'd left him. "Sherlock, you should head to bed." he said, brushing past him and to the kettle. Sherlock didn't respond, but that was normal for him. John ignored him as well for a few moments, busying himself with making tea. "You want a cup?" he asked, turning around to face his friend.

It was then that he noticed Sherlock's face was almost perfectly lax. No look of concentration on his face at all. And in fact, it didn't even look like his eyes were open. He was sleeping sitting up! John had to make sure he was right though and he could only thing of one way to do that. Being very quiet and very careful, he took a few steps up to the kitchen table. He reached carefully around the sleeping detective and carefully pulled the glass slide from the stage clips.

Sherlock didn't make a noise of protest. In fact, he snored.

John couldn't help but laugh and then carefully inspected the slide. Whatever it was, it wasn't important. Sherlock wasn't even on a case. He carefully washed it off in hot water and then sat it on the kitchen counter. Once his tea was done he leaned against the counter and just watched the ridiculous man in front of him.

John was almost finished with his tea when Sherlock's head eventually lulled to the side. He nearly smacked his forehead off of the kitchen table. He picked himself back up in a rush and put his eyes back to the eyepiece. "Have a nice nap?" John asked.

Sherlock jumped at the sound of John's voice, eyes shooting over to see him leaning comfortably against the counter. His eyes then narrowed and he tried to busy himself with his experiment. "I was not napping." he replied stubbornly.

"Sherlock, you were snoring."

"Was not."

"Were too!" John said, a bit of a smile spreading across his face. Honestly, Sherlock was worse than a child.

"You don't have any proof." he said indignantly. He was perched at his microscope, looking as if nothing had happened.

"Yes I do." John said smugly and sat his mug down to pick up the glass slide.

Sherlock turned his gaze over to John, to his microscope, and back to John once more before his eyes widened fractionally. "H-How…?" the man stuttered.

"Gotchya."


	2. Chapter 2

_The first time John saw Sherlock sleeping… _

John had been living with Sherlock for a month now. Cases were the highlights of his day. As he had yet to find a job anywhere so far, if Sherlock was not on a case he was usually stuck watching crap telly. However this time, John was exhausted. The thought of sleeping in bed was more exciting than a case at the moment. Nine days ago, Sherlock had gotten a call from Lestrade about a particularly nasty break in. A whole family had been slaughtered. In the father's office, the wall had been busted open to reveal a hidden safe in the wall. The safe was empty, but the father had kept no records of the contents of the safe. It was Sherlock's job to figure out what the man had been hiding, who had taken whatever it was, and to find whoever had done it. It had taken six days for him to solve it. Of course, John had caught naps here and there. He and Lestrade had actually nodded off on a sofa in the DI's office for a good six hours towards the end of the case. (They promised never to mention it to anyone else when they woke up slumped against each other.)

But Sherlock didn't sleep at all. John had mentioned it to the consulting detective once and he simply responded that he didn't sleep on a case. John had sighed and shook his head. He figured as long as he got the occasionally slice of toast into the detective he most likely wouldn't collapse. So, six days passed with no sleep for the consulting detective. Despite John's short time living with the detective, he could tell that the man was past exhaustion. Just as they were about to leave Scotland Yard, there was a shooting in the lobby of a bank right down the street. Of course, Sherlock couldn't refuse. Although this case was much simpler than their last case it still took three more days to tie up all the loose ends.

John and Sherlock were currently standing on the curb outside of Scotland Yard, waiting for the cab Lestrade had called for them. John was watching Sherlock concernedly out of the corner of his eye. He was more pale than usual and his eyes were bloodshot and glassy. His blinking was becoming increasingly slower and John was worried the man was about to fall asleep on his feet. "You really don't sleep on a case?" John asked then.

"Hmm?" Sherlock hummed. His hand came up to rub at his eyes. "Mm. No, save for the occasional micro sleep."

"Micro sleep?" John questioned, cocking his head slightly.

Sherlock gave a small nod in return that looked more like he was falling asleep than agreeing. "Sleep that lasts no more than thirty seconds." He yawned widely, having to reach his hand up to swipe involuntary tears away from his eyes. "It's enough to keep me going until I can actually rest."

"Huh." John couldn't understand how Sherlock could go so long with such little sleep. Before he could ask his next question however, their cab pulled up to the curb. John yawned as well as he opened the door, mentally blaming Sherlock. Yawns were contagious after all. "221 Baker Street." John informed the cab driver as Sherlock slid into the back. The cabbie gave a short nod and pulled away from the curb soon as Sherlock's door was shut.

Approximately three seconds later, John felt something plop onto his shoulder. When he turned to see what it was, he found Sherlock's thick curly hair tickling his face. "Oi, Sherlock." He said confusedly, trying to crane his neck to look at the man's face. "What are you doing?"

John was answered with a snore.

He glanced up to see the cabbie smirking at them. "Long day?" he asked. John could only give a disbelieving chuckle and nod his head as another snore sounded through the cab. John relaxed back, allowing Sherlock to rest against his shoulder. God knew the man deserved the rest. Traffic was thick and the trip to Baker Street took longer than normal. The sound of Sherlock's snoring was causing John's eyes to feel heavier and heavier, his chin drooping closer to his chest…

John woke when a hand rested on his knee. "Sir? We're here." John took a deep breath in through his nose and nodded, eyes peeling themselves open. He hummed under his breath and dug his hand into his pocket to get his wallet. He paid the cabbie the proper amount, Sherlock's dead weight still leaning heavily against his side. "Give me a minute to get him up and out." John said. The cabbie simply smiled and nodded. John turned the best he could, reaching his hand up to Sherlock's shoulder. He rubbed Sherlock's upper arm gently, trying to wake him the best way he could. He felt bad, honestly. He knew how hard the man had worked these past days. "Sherlock?" he called. "Mate, we're back at the flat. Let's get you inside and to bed." A few seconds passed before Sherlock's head slipped off of John's shoulder. "Home?" he slurred out, eyes still closed. John nodded, still rubbing his shoulder gently to try and keep the man awake. "Yeah, we're home, mate." He confirmed. He resisted the urge to chuckle as he saw saliva on Sherlock's cheek. He quickly glanced down and saw a damp spot on his coat to match. John couldn't even bring himself to be angry. Sherlock was normally so… inhuman. To see him act so normal was almost endearing.

Sherlock gave a small nod and sat up. John took this opportunity to slip out of his side of the cab, quickly going to Sherlock's side to open the door. He reached in and looped his arm around Sherlock's waist, pulling him out of the cab and onto his feet. John gave the cabbie one last thanks before closing the door. John kept his arm around Sherlock's waist as they made their way towards the front door. Sherlock was managing to walk well enough, though he was leaning part of his weight against John.

John fumbled with his key for a moment before opening the door and bringing Sherlock inside. Right. Stairs were next. Good thing John's room was the one upstairs and not Sherlock's. "Right, just a few stairs now and then you can get to bed."

"Eighteen." Sherlock mumbled.

"Hm?"

"Eighteen stairs."

"Right. Eighteen stairs separate you from your bed." John rolled his eyes. Of course Sherlock would know exactly how many stairs there were. John brought Sherlock's arm over his own shoulders so that he could try and better help Sherlock's balance. His other arm still stayed wrapped around his torso. Sherlock did rather well at climbing the stairs considering he was practically dead on his feet. They stumbled a few times, but never did they fall. However John was never more relieved to see the door to their flat. He pushed it open and led Sherlock inside. He pulled Sherlock's coat off of him and hung it on the back of the door before continuing to guide Sherlock back to his bedroom. He didn't bother with his own coat, he could do that later.

Sherlock tried to open his bedroom door himself, but his hand missed the door handle and cracked against the door frame. "Ow." He grumbled. John gave a low chuckle, reaching forward to open the door for him. It was the first time John had been in Sherlock's bedroom. It was oddly neat compared to the way Sherlock kept the rest of the flat. "Sit on the edge of the bed." John instructed. Sherlock merely nodded and did as he was told, too tired to argue. John knelt to take off Sherlock's shoes and socks while Sherlock wrestled his suit jacket off. When he moved to his dress shirt he seemed to forget that his shirt had buttons on the cuffs and was left with his shirt hanging from his wrists. John unbuttoned them and helped completely remove the garment. This was also the first time John had seen his new flatmate shirtless. John wasn't surprised that he could see all of Sherlock's ribs.

Sherlock stood and fumbled with his belt for a moment before slipping his trousers off, obviously not minding if John saw him or not. "Right." John said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Although he felt like he'd known Sherlock most of his life, the fact was that they'd only been living together for a month. This type of situation was definitely new for John. He cleared his throat, ears turning a bit red at the tips. "Sleep well then."

Sherlock simply hummed in response, falling face first onto his bed.

John turned to leave but hesitated at the door. He turned back and sighed. He couldn't let Sherlock fall asleep without a blanket. He blamed it on his doctor-ly instincts. One of the first things they did in med school was learn to change the bed sheets while the patient was still in bed. John gently rolled Sherlock onto his back before pulling down the covers beneath him and then pulling them over top of the detective. "Night, Sherlock." He said quietly.

Yet again, John was answered with a snore.


End file.
